La petite mort
by Petrichor
Summary: The unfamiliar is alluring; Each one unconsciously observes the other, watching the boundary between uncompromising justice and evil become all but imaginary. Where all distinctions fall away, this little death may triumph the end of loneliness... R
1. Solitude

**1**

It was not entirely silent, nor was it entirely dark. But after you got used to the subdued roar of five hundred and thirteen fans siphoning away all traces of dust and ambient heat from the frigid hall, once you got used to the sixteen gargantuan monitors that bled a ghostly bluish light onto the glossy floor--well, then it was nearly like lying down in bed with all the lights off. At least he was alone for the moment.

The detective known almost exclusively as L. crouched pensively atop his chair, awash in the flood of visual stimuli blaring from the towering array of screens. He took it all in, letting it roil around the crevices of his mind like a river through a prospector's gold pan, waiting for something to snag. Occasionally, a flicker of activity would catch his attention--someone shifting position slightly on one of the internal surveillance cameras, a car driving by the building's entrance, a promising news flash--and his glittering dark eyes would flick towards it in an instant, evaluating its importance with predatory efficiency before returning to the wall at large.  
Though monitoring such a glut of information was an overwhelmingly difficult task for most people, _L. _ found its straightforwardness quite relaxing compared to the intricacies of reality. In fact, he was as close to sleep as he ever got.

_L. _was breathing deeply, tugging at the corner of his lower lip unconsciously. While he sat, rolling slightly on his haunches, the detective constructed immense plans which sprawled like webs of glittering lifelines into the unfathomable future, accounting for every circumstance he could dredge from the turbid vastness of a sea of uncertainty. Yet despite this maelstrom of digital and mental exertion, the room was nearly silent and nearly dark and L. was completely alone.


	2. Emergence

**2**

A yellow light began to blink in a corner of the room. After a few minutes, the light cooled to green and a small door slid open with a hiss. In a plume of humid air, Light Yagami ambled into the enormous hall, shivering in the chill as he finished patting his hair dry with a towel. As the relentlessly turning fans whisked the heat and moisture away from the jumbled heap of monitors and wires and microphones, he began scanning the displays for pertinent information. Finding nothing of particular interest, he slung himself easily into a chair next to _L._, trying valiantly not to think about his watch. Or, for that matter, the ever-present glittering handcuff which linked him to _L._

He glanced at the crouching detective out of the corner of his eye, feeling anything but confident. Light swore _L. _could hear his thoughts sometimes, as if that were even possible. Greatly annoyed at his own unseemly cowardice, Light focused on breathing naturally without looking like he was focusing on breathing naturally. Habit made it effortless, but effortlessness has always been a destroyer of good habits.

"Oi, Ryuzaki" he said, with perfect casualness. Masterful, he thought.

(_L, _being quite a bit more paranoid than the average person, has by now insisted upon being called "Ryuzaki" rather than his own cryptic initial.)

"...I can take over watching the monitors if you'd like to shower or something."

Silence. Perhaps L. was thinking it over. Or perhaps he was asleep with his eyes open. Perhaps he was ignoring the suggestion completely--the detective's far-reaching knowledge never seemed to extend to etiquette or, for that matter, personal hygiene.

"That won't be necessary, Light-kun." _L._ responded eventually. His eyes remained locked onto the screens. Light _thought _he heard a hint of appreciation, though if he didn't have so much practice evaluating people, he would have easily doubted himself. Of course, (Light reminded himself) _L. _was still human, after all. Usually, any difference between _L. _and the average person on the street was caused by his overwhelming dedication or by his gut-wrenching desire for success--both traits which Light himself possessed and could therefore easily account for. Sometimes it seemed strange that Light, who fought for justice itself, could be evenly matched by this brilliant yet ambiguous detective who worked himself to destruction for mere pleasure's sake. It was a most interesting match.


	3. Inspection

**3**

As Light Yagami idly memorized some unimportant news story and took note of Misa's unusally fitful sleeping pattern recorded by the entangled-infrared camera in her room, he pondered the fact that _L. _considered him a friend.

Maybe it was part of another deeply-buried ruse. Maybe it was genuine friendship. Even taking time to consider the matter thoroughly, all he could decide was that it wasn't obviously a danger as far as he could tell, "readily apparent" being a phrase which sent shivers down his spine and kept him awake at night. But being here in this chilly room sitting next to _L. _meant that there was no time for speculation; the game was on and now was time to be _friendly_.

Light took note of the detective's haggard appearance--the oversized and fraying cotton shirt which enveloped most of his cadaverous form, the baggy pants which crept across the ends of his ankles to cover his bare feet, the cavernous circles beneath his eyes which were just visible beneath a tangled mat of black hair--this guy seriously needed half an hour to rejoin the world of the living again. Or at least to remember what it looked like.

Yagami spoke: "Are you _sure _you don't need a few minutes to relax? I mean, I understand--" Which was true; he understood quite well. "--but maybe it'd help you think more effectively? I mean...everyone needs a little personal time, right?"  
Yeah, right. The time _L. _spent monitoring the computers was his sole source of relaxation and nothing less would ever be enough. Light knew that and _L._ knew that. Light even approved of the idea--dedication is dedication, after all. But it was something he had to say because that's what a _friend _would say.  
That word, friendship, sounded very out of place when he tried to attach it to _L., _but somehow it also sounded like a gold mine of potential. As if to prove this point, _L._ took an uncharacteristic yet brief glance away from the monitors.  
"Thank you for suggesting it." Which was true; he meant it. "But all the pieces are still in play. I'm merely waiting for the next move."

Undoubtably, Light would respond amiably, though _L. _was not interested. In his brief glance at Light, _L. _was making a mental list of everything he observed.

« Apparently, Light has reached the conclusion that a black silk shirt is somehow appropriate in this technological miracle of a cave, a stroke of self-blind ego which is perfectly in keeping with a megalomaniac personality. »

Hmmm.

« How annoying. This fact I possess..."Light is Kira", the solution to the game which has been in place from the very beginning, cannot afford me victory until I find solid evidence. Once again, _another _piece of evidence--the clothes--rejected because of the chance I'm being too relative. Well, the clothes _do _look more...stylish...than the shirt I wear. After all, they originated from a certain well-established and highly elite European firm. Apparently Light has been making friends with his generous stipend. Obviously this is why Misa (and very many other girls) are foolishly in love with Light. But what's the value in such a thing, anyways? »

He began to wonder if Watari (who always looked impeccable) thought less of him because of his frayed T-shirt and baggy jeans. Of _course_ not. Plus, as Watari knew, he had his reasons. But in a moment of introspection, he noted that these superficial observations and moments of self-doubt had been popping up increasingly frequently over the past few weeks and he wondered why that might be. It was certainly a dangerous development--shunning the majority of societal norms (whether intentionally or not) had given him a certain _edge_ over a needlessly self-indulgent populace of criminals.

« Though even self-inflicted isolation is lonesome in some ways. »

« ...on second thought, clothes are just as ridiculous as showers. It isn't like showers wash away who you are, anyways, or that they are even particularly effective at washing away how you feel. How utterly pointless. »

Hmmm again.

« Light drumming the fingers of his right hand--displays of nervous energy are quite unlike him. Perhaps the handcuff is making him uncomfortable? »

After an extremely brief moment, _L. _decided that it was simply the lateness of the hour; Light was unconsciously releasing tension centered on his wristwatch which currently displayed a blasphemously late hour on its pale face. For a moment, he had been worried that the handcuff was to blame, but the drumming motion seemed more repetitive like a clock's tick and his body language showed no subconscious defense mechanisms which would indicate he was trying to hide something like that. Though body language was not perfectly autonomous for the well-aware and could be controlled; L's own unflinchingly vacant stare could attest to that.

« Wait--worried? I feel _worried _that the handcuff has been making Light uncomfortable? This friendship is making me subjective? Oh, this weakness called humanity...! »

For the _n_th time, _L. _wondered how much of this friendship was part of his overall plan. For the _n_th time, he found his reply to be unpleasantly subjective. An instant after this cursory examination, _L.'s_ eyes rolled back to the screen and his attention was re-captivated. He toyed with the corner of his lip ponderously before leaning over the console in front of him. Light eventually stopping being distracting and talkative, though by then _L. _had already tuned him out. Misa was being unusually restless on the eIR-cam, and a truck was driving cautiously by the front of the building. Oh, Watari was taking care of the truck. Good.


	4. Suppression

**4**

Now that Light had returned from his shower, L. had apparently decided that the time for "sleep" was over. His hands flew over an ergonomically designed keyboard with arched fingers as if the keys burned him. Light followed suit at his own terminal, amazed that only minutes ago he was trying as hard as L. to deduce the identity of the elusive Kira, straining to uncover revealing missteps in the infamous murderer's bewildering moves.

Though nothing in his carefully controlled body language betrayed any change, some vast portions of Light's mind were now reeling at the thought that a single shred of paper could change so much. In a world where fate was spelled out in ink and life could be paid for (or stolen), could there be such a thing as chance? What were the odds that he had failed to notice the spring-loaded mechanism in his watch until he was alone enough to find out what it concealed? And now his reprieve of innocence was over and all the memories of Kira, lying inaccessible inside his brain or perhaps enmeshed within the deathly pages themselves, had come flooding back...

"You know," L. noted dully, interrupting this latest machination, "It's probably not as useful as most people think to shower so regularly. For example, I observe that Yagami-kun possesses the same characteristic scent whether or not he has showered recently."

Light took a moment to reflect upon this unusual observation, at first feeling taken aback and then, when a prickle of annoyance had bristled in his heart, inexplicably furious.

« Now he makes comments about the way I _smell_? How _█__██__█__ing_ hypocritical of him. I should just grab a bottle of that ¥14,000 cologne and--_ »_

But the rational side of his brain intervened, and he sounded merely uncomfortable as he replied.

"R-Ryuzaki...? You notice all of the strange things, don't you...?"

"I notice everything, whenever it is possible." L. responded automatically. And he glanced at Light as if his response was unusual and Light wondered what_ L._ could possibly be thinking. The _idiot_.

"I...see."

Light laughed awkwardly, bile burning the inside of his throat as his veins flooded with impotent anger. How had he _survived _these past few weeks? How had he--he consulted his memories incredulously as if they had been forged--managed to be _friendly _with such a maddening creature? As he recalled with loathsome certainty, there had been no trickery in his motives--he_ hadn't been trying to manipulate L. at all_. Their friendship had been...sincere.

Sure, there was no denying that they had much in _common_, but anyone could see that neither one could stand the thought of an _equal_, let alone the threat of a _superior, _and so one of them would ultimately have to permanently deal with the other. Somehow, he had forgotten that (he had forgotten a lot of things), but the risk of his own life now cleared his judgment while simultaneously intensifying his feeling of loathing. Light coughed, and L. looked over at him in order to scrutinize him.

"I did not say that one's scent was anything unpleasant." he clarified, apparently coming to some correct conclusions about what Light was feeling. "I have noticed that many people possess a characteristic scent which, (for example) in the event that I am blinded for any length of time, I could utilize to my advantage."

« So this is some perverse form of small talk for him, is it? » It was almost intolerable to sit there quietly.

"It seemed to become relevant when you mentioned showering, is all." Light fought the instinct to curl his hands into fists.

"Ah...okay" he responded, lacing his words with what he predicted was polite interest.

_L. _was in a quandary now. He was absolutely certain that Light was Kira. What he was _not _absolutely certain about was exactly _when _it became part of the plan to talk about that particular scent which sort of clung to Light wherever he went. Of course, it was intriguing enough to merit a private investigation (he grinned internally at _that _particular choice of words), and he had taken the time to discreetly compare various girl's scents to Lights in order to confirm that none of _them _was the source of it. It had even spawned a subsequent study of various other people and their characteristic scents, and a patent for the gaussian-invariant olfactometer he had invented to streamline the process--but why mention it to anyone (especially Light) simply because it had been idling in the back of his mind? It was surely because he was trying to make Light crack under pressure...but that was a previously failed method, wasn't it? There was supposed to be some new angle to it at some point?

Hmmm...

There was just something distractingly unforgettable about that perpetual essence. Whether it was some exotic cologne or whether Light's own skin had created it, the dark flavor matched Light's personality exactly. It smelled of _danger--_the fear which kept L. working from the sidelines, even more than his self-appointed job required--but entwined with that danger was all of Light's charisma and brilliance, the lure which drew _L. _into the most perfect, most challenging game of his life. It was an absolutely deadly and absolutely unassailable presence which coaxed and teased him out of his reclusive darkness and into the light. Every waking moment, _L._ watched his life slip inevitably further into the blinding scrutiny of the enemy, and it was all he could do to select _which_ secrets--which pieces of privacy--he would let go of next.


	5. Error

**5**

Without realizing it, _L. _had started to turn softly in Light's direction to get another breath of that intoxicating darkness. In a somewhat unexpected moment, he thought he could feel the slight warmth emanating from Light in the otherwise frigid hall, spreading across the insignificantly infinite distance between them and carrying all of that insidious power and undeniable magnetism within it.

He could almost hear Light's heart beating quietly like drumming fingers on the back of his neck even though Light was sitting in another chair and was nearly across the room. It was such a calming sound...every moment of every day _L._ had spent trying to steal victory from the outstretched hand of death, but this monotonous heartbeat made all that worry disappear...

It was so perfect, and so seemingly near...it could have been his own heartbeat inside him. Or _was _it his own heartbeat?

Suddenly, terrifyingly,_ L. _caught sight of Light staring directly into his eyes with a deadly smile of sudden understanding. The blood drained from L.'s face and rushed back a moment later in a surge of confused heat--it was as if a demon caged within Light's heart had finally broken free and was leering grotesquely through his perfect face. In an instant, the gleam was gone and Light had only an expression of curiosity, but L.'s heart was still throbbing wildly in his chest as his emotions heaved.

There was a terribly, terribly still silence as L. turned away from Light and pretended that nothing had happened. His face felt hot and all the strength had been chased from his limbs by terror, leaving them trembling and clammy and almost unable to support his typical crouch. In a moment like waiting for a single dooming blast from a pistol, _L._ could do nothing but temper his racing heart and wait for the fate which his blunder had dealt him. And with each second of thoughtful silence that passed, the tension in the room became stretched further. Inevitably, something had to give.

Something did.


End file.
